


Loss For Words

by shipofthesunflowergirl



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Connor bein cute and angsty af, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, this is literally my first fic wow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-02 01:34:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4040617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipofthesunflowergirl/pseuds/shipofthesunflowergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you love someone, it’s like you hand them a loaded gun and point it to your chest with your own hands wrapping over theirs. You dare them to shoot, and trust that they will not. Love is reckless, love is diabolical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loss For Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ifllamascouldfly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifllamascouldfly/gifts).



Connor had never considered what it meant to be “at a loss for words” before Oliver Hampton happened to him. 

And now? Now he’s sprawled out on Oliver’s bed, _their _bed, technically, already in his suit for class, and Oliver’s on his laptop again.__

He’s supposed to be leaving soon. Being in Oliver’s presence puts him in a never-ending phase of _five more minutes. ___

It’s a funny phrase. _At a loss for words._

Connor knows just what he thinks about everything Oliver does.

Connor lets his gaze follow Oliver’s body, the way his eyes follow the screen and he can see a tiny reflection of the screen in his glasses. Like Oliver’s own version of heart-eyes. His mouth hangs open a little as he concentrates, tongue sneaking out to wet his lips every once in a while.

And Connor thinks: _Peace. Butterflies. Attention. Comfortable. ___

“Are you coding?”

“Just because I work in IT doesn’t mean I’m coding whenever I’m on my lapt-.”

“Are you, though?”

“I am,” he smiles, his eyes still on the screen.

Oliver has this stage of undress he always ends up lazing around in when he’s getting ready in the morning. Early on in their relationship, he’d been the get-up-and-go kind of guy, and now Connor has him on his laptop, white shirt hanging open on his chest, jacket somewhere in the mess of sheets and pillows and their morning together, trousers still unbuttoned. 

He thinks: _Sex. Cologne. Hair. Shoulder blades. ___

See? He has his words. They aren’t “lost” or whatever.

There’s one word he can’t find in himself to say. Not yet, anyway. He knows it’s there, with all the other secrets he’s keeping, locked away in his own little Pandora’s box of a heart. _Murder. Sam Keating. Father. Rebecca Sutter. Murder. Murder. Dad. Paxton. Murder. ___

_Love. ___

When you love someone, it’s like you hand them a loaded gun and point it to your chest with your own hands wrapping over theirs. You dare them to shoot, and trust that they will not. Love is reckless, love is _diabolical._

There’s a text on his phone. It’s from Asher, asking where he is.

“I have to go,” Connor mumbles, not to Oliver, but to the entire house in general. He stands up.

Oliver smiles at him. It’s one of those half smiles he gets when he’s not really paying attention. Connor waits.

“Oliver,” he urges. “I have to go.”

He looks up and chuckles. “Right, come here.”

When Oliver leans up and kisses him, even if its only for couple of seconds, he thinks about it, how Oliver’s glasses feel against his cheeks, how his ribs tighten as he stretches to kiss Connor again, how he’d said the words to other guys before and hadn’t meant it, how he’d used the loaded gun on them and-

Oliver sits back, still beaming up at him. “I’ll see you at eight, then?”

Connor had decided that he wouldn’t let Oliver love him. That he’d wear him out. How long could someone like Oliver last like this?

That was ages ago. That was before Connor’s apartment started to smell like Oliver at first, and later started looking like a museum dedicated to their relationship, with _The Velvet Rage lying_ on top of all his law textbooks and Oliver’s clothes in his closet and his in Oliver’s and Connor’s sister on Oliver’s speed dial, and- eventually he’d asked Oliver if he could move in. 

It hadn’t taken him long to realize that Connor wasn’t the one wearing Oliver out, and it was actually the other way round.

“Oliver,” 

“Is everything okay?” he closes his laptop, finally, and concern creases his forehead.

“I…” Connor scrambles around for the words. _Oliver. HIV. Home. Warm. ___

Oliver is very still. Connor touches his stomach, both his hands gliding over and across his waist under his shirt.

“I can’t say it yet,” Connor murmurs against his neck. “I will say it, soon. I need you to know that I do.” 

“I say it enough for the both of us, anyway,”

Connor can _hear _Oliver’s smile.__

_Skin. Lips. Oliver. Love. ___

“I do, Oliver. I really do.”

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic ever! Yay!


End file.
